


With Shadows and Monsters

by samstoleaburger



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Morality, Gen, I'm Bad At Titles, Mental Instability, Miles Is So Done, Miles Upshur Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Other, Protective Walrider, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 05:32:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17278016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samstoleaburger/pseuds/samstoleaburger
Summary: Well, it wouldn't matter much, would it?passed his mind as he watched his hands shake, tunnel vision making its way into the mix.What's the point of being afraid of dying now? You're already dead. Stuck in some fucked up version of Purgatory -





	With Shadows and Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> [5/21/2017 note] So...Miles got a little feisty in this once I gave my mind free range to have whatever in this fic. Though, I figured he wouldn't exactly roll over and let the Walrider walk all over him. That and I figure that Miles would just be done with all the shit he's gone through and, well, he's already dead. So what's another death, right...? I mean, we've all seen his notes, right? He's got attitude and a temper to match if it's lit.
> 
> Also, I haven't exactly played/watched (we all get too lazy to play sometimes, don't judge me) Whistleblower in a long while. So any characters mentioned from Outlast or Whistleblower may be off/a tad OOC. I mean, I _tried_ , okay? I try so hard not to fuck things up beyond repair. Even if it's unavoidable at the best of times.

Miles flicked his hands to rid them of the blood and intestines they were covered in with a grimace. He couldn't say exactly how it'd gotten there alongside a majority of his clothes, but he could say _why_ without hesitation. Especially what with the bloodbath that was surrounding him.  
  
Murkoff squad members laid on the floor and Miles noticed that most of them have burns the size of his hand in various places. Though he saw that almost all of them were centered around either choking them to death or ripping their hearts out. He figured he didn't really have a reason to feel sorry about any of those given how pissed off he'd been at the time. Although, Miles knew in the back of his mind that he should be concerned about the fact the _Walrider_ was inside him.  
  
However, he decided to put that on the back burner for the moment. Simply deciding to relish in the revelation that he had his story to break the bastards and prove to his previous boss that something was definitely wrong with the oh-so 'charitable' organization. It made him huff a laugh before a rustle nearby caught his attention and Miles turned, hands at the ready to tear more of these assholes to shreds.  
  
He froze once he saw that there were two patients standing in the doorway and that they were eying him warily. Shifting restlessly and their eyes darting between him and back the way they came.  
  
Miles got the distinct impression that they were waiting for the moment he decided to kill them. Perhaps it was something the Walrider did to pass the time. After all, Miles could remember the damn thing trying to do the same to him when he was outside in the shack. How the Walrider had crawled under the door once he'd slammed it in its face like it was just a minor inconvenience.  
  
Lowering his hands, though, seemed to be the best option and the patients sagged with relief once he did. They quickly shuffled past, one hiding behind the other and holding tight to his shirt as if afraid to be left behind. Which Miles couldn't blame them for, having witnessed the Walrider's rage himself personally.  
  
Once they were out of sight, Miles turned his focus to his hands that still held remnants of blood and noted that they were shaking. Not terribly so like they had when he'd been stuck in Trager's 'playground' or when Walker got too close for comfort when he barely managed an escape. Instead, it was leftover adrenaline from the wave of emotions that crashed over him in the span of what felt like seconds. Though he knew, in the back of his mind, that it wasn't seconds. It was hours. Maybe even half.  
  
Miles remembered when the armed squad riddled him with bullets and that he'd blacked out once the Walrider made its presence known. He couldn't remember much after that, which worried yet relieved him at the same time. Almost like the Walrider had thrown up a mental blockade, healing him as it used his body to slaughter what was left of the Murkoff employees. While that was fine and dandy, Miles was just glad that the Walrider had enough sense to spare the patients. Regardless of the fact there were quite a few that had actively tried to kill him.  
  
Not that he could blame them, not entirely. They weren't mentally stable and, really, Miles would have no room to judge considering he was covered in blood and guts. He glanced down on his shirt and tugged at it to get a better look before twisting to see the damage to his clothes. Thank God the jacket was leather because it had been a gift from his mother. So, he supposed, he should be glad it was salvageable and that he wouldn't have to throw it out.  
  
_Bastards can take my fingers and my sanity, but they can't take my jacket._ he thought with a snort.

* * *

Miles discarded his jacket and set it off to the side as he stood in the basement's shower room. He'd started up a shower just long enough for it to be warm by this point and he'd shut both doors to get inside for some illusion of privacy. There was at least one patient, that he knew of, that was down here. Harmless as he may have seemed beyond the glass, Miles didn't want to run the risk of being attacked while he was in his bathing suit and unaware of oncoming danger.  
  
Hence the closed doors but his skin felt itchy as the nanomachines shifted about through his system. Especially in his chest, exactly where he'd been shot, and his right shoulder itched as well. He leaned against the lockers, using one hand to remove his shoes and socks while his other tried, vainly, to make the itch go away. Once he touched his shoulder, though, Miles hissed and flexed his fingers around it with gritted teeth.  
  
_Okay. Fuck._ Miles squeezed his eyes shut and breathed in. Deep, slow, steadying breaths as he counted to ten. _Lesson learned, don't touch your shoulder._  
  
Once he reached ten and felt like he could move without irritating it further, Miles released his shoulder after mumbling a swear. He nudged his shoes toward his jacket with his foot as he went about unbuttoning his shirt. Miles made a face as it stuck to his skin, wet and no doubt ruined beyond repair. He figured his chest wouldn't be any better and would probably be stained red until he took a much needed shower.  
  
However, before he could even get it halfway, his hands froze in their clumsy fumbles to undo the buttons once the nanomachines moved. They were doing so in such a restless manner that it actually concerned Miles. It wasn't like when he'd been calming down from the massacre upstairs.  
  
Miles took his hands away from his shirt and frowned when the nanos settled. Only to restart when he reached for his shirt again. "What the fuck...?"  
  
_"Don't."_  
  
Miles tensed and jerked to the side once he caught sight of the Walrider starting to form beside him. "What the _fuck_?!" he repeated, clamping his hand on his shirt in an attempt to calm his racing heart. "Jesus fucking Christ! What the Hell do you _want_?"  
  
The Walrider cast a glance to the shower that was running before turning to face Miles. _"Don't do that."_  
  
"Do what? Take a shower?" Miles let go of his shirt and waved his hand toward the stall. "Hate to break it to you but I need a fucking shower. I'm covered in dirt, blood, guts and who knows what else." He paused and made a face at the thought. "Actually, I'd rather not think about it."  
  
Miles turned his attention back to his task and as he reached for a button, the Walrider got closer with a low growl. _"Stop. Don't."_  
  
"Fuck off." He clenched his jaw and rose his gaze to look at the Walrider with his own frustration on display. "I know you can handle a little water. _So man the fuck up and get over it_. 'cause I'm gonna take a shower whether you like it or not."  
  
The Walrider was silent and didn't move. Neither did the nanomachines, and Miles was grateful until he got another button undone. That was the exact moment that he sucked in a wet breath, tasting copper on his tongue and tipped forward to slap his hands on a nearby stall to halt his fall. Only just enough to pant and grit his teeth as his legs started to give out. His hands slid on the stall, leaving red streaks in their wake and collapsed to his knees with harsh gasps.  
  
Miles looked down on his chest as blood slipped past his lips and dribbled down his chin. The red that stained his shirt previously had slowly darkened and now he was apparently bleeding all over his shirt. If he had any doubts, which he didn't, the blood staining his shoulder would be proof enough that the Walrider was using his injuries to 'persuade' him.  
  
And if he didn't listen -  
  
_Well, it wouldn't matter much, would it?_ passed his mind as he watched his hands shake, tunnel vision making its way into the mix. _What's the point of being afraid of dying now? You're already dead. Stuck in some fucked up version of Purgatory -_  
  
Miles cried out as he curled his fingers, digging his nails into the stall as he hunched over and coughed out blood onto the concrete. He lifted his head just enough to throw a withering glare at the Walrider before the pain stole his focus once again. Miles bunched up his shoulders and tried to simply breathe. Surely the Walrider wouldn't actually kill him, not when it found a compatible host aside from Billy.  
  
It would get bored and leave.  
  
Then he could take his damn shower and -  
  
The pain intensified and Miles could feel the Walrider dig through his memories. Tearing through, finding the worst pains he'd ever experienced and bringing them to the surface. He could feel that time he was ten and broke his arm from falling out of a tree. Could feel when he'd been ganged up on and beaten senseless because he didn't know how to keep his Goddamn mouth shut. He could feel -  
  
Miles' eyes darted up to his hands and shook. _No. No, no, no. Don't - not that -_  
  
He clamped his eyes shut and bit back a pitiful sound. "Fucking why?!" Miles' hands slid down further, knowing he would be unable to keep himself up any longer if the Walrider kept slamming him with this and kicking him more while he was down. " _Why_?!"  
  
The bombardment ceased then and the Walrider stepped up to him, looking down with a cock of its head. _"Not safe. Not ready."_ It reached out and gripped his chin, forcing Miles to look at it through watery eyes. _"Still healing."_  
  
"'healing' my ass." Miles grit out. "You fucking reopened _everything_!"  
  
The Walrider made a frustrated sound as its hold tightened and Miles barely resisted flinching. _"I told you to stop. You didn't listen."_  
  
Miles snarled. "And you couldn't have just _told_ me? You know, like anyone else would've done instead of fucking everything up and taking us back to square one!" He tore his chin out of the Walrider's grasp the second he felt he could move again without being crippled by overwhelming amounts of pain. "Fucking Christ. Fuck this and fuck _you_. I can't believe -"  
  
_"Watch yourself."_  
  
He paused and turned his attention back to the Walrider. "No offense - actually, no. All offense is meant. I don't like you and you don't like me." Miles took a hand off the stall and placed it on the ground, in the small puddle of blood he'd spat up, to help him stand. "I mean, I'm kind of sorry about believing Wernicke about Billy."  
  
He noticed a twitch in the Walrider's left hand but didn't mention it.  
  
"But I'm tired. I'm so fucking tired, could use a whole year's worth of vacation time and about another year to sort through my shit." Miles stabbed a finger toward the general direction of Wernicke's office. "He told me killing Billy would let me get the fuck out of here. I only did it because I wanted to take Murkoff down and now I'm stuck with you! You're stuck with me!" He lowered his hand and gestured to the fresh blood on his shirt. "I'm not like those sick fucks, so work with me and I'll try to work with you! Talk to me! If it's not safe to shower while I'm healing then say something and we can avoid this shit!"  
  
The Walrider stared at him for what felt like the longest time and Miles felt a soothing sensation wash over him. As if the Walrider was offering comfort and some form of a half-assed apology. Not like Miles felt like apologizing either since they obviously had different ideas on how this was going to work. Miles just wanted to act like nothing happened and continue on like he wasn't housing a sentient nanomachine. The Walrider, however, seemed to still see Miles as a threat and thought that he needed to be punished.  
  
Considering what happened to Billy and how Miles had just managed to dredge enough motivation to end his life, he supposed it was only fair. Even if he hated it.  
  
Miles tore his gaze away and went to gather his things. He slipped on his shoes and snatched up his jacket with a scowl before making his way out of the room. "Good talk." he tossed over his shoulder before heading to the bathroom with the intention to wash the blood off as best he can with just a sink.

* * *

The next few hours had been relatively quiet.  
  
Well, as relatively quiet as an asylum could be with patients having outbursts at random intervals.  
  
Miles had decided to wander the building without any real destination in mind. He didn't feel the need to look over his shoulder as much as he had before when Walker was following him around. Or when he'd met and escaped Trager.  
  
He placed a hand on his stomach as he thought about how long it's been since he last ate. Miles was honestly surprised he could think about food and not feel like gagging at the thought of eating. Especially with everything he's seen and had the misfortune of being part of. He could recall with startling clarity how Father Martin's smoking corpse smelled and how he hadn't been as revolted by the sight as he would've been when he first entered Mount Massive.  
  
Perhaps that said something about how affected he was, or he'd just been so tired that he couldn't find the energy to care.  
  
Miles eventually wound up entering a gymnasium. He spent a few seconds amazed that there was actually a gym in the complex, but it didn't last long once he looked up. Bodies were hung from the ceiling and Miles noticed that the men were lacking their genitals. As if they'd been hacked off and whoever did it tried to replicate a female's anatomy at the same time. Badly, if he had to be honest.  
  
He felt sorry for whatever poor idiot ran into whoever did this. It didn't have Walrider anywhere on it, so Miles knew that pegging it on a patient was probably the best bet.  
  
Miles rose a hand to pinch his nose shut with a grimace at the smell of all the decaying bodies as he made his way through. He occassionally cast a glance back up to the corpses and felt the nanomachines stir after a few minutes of walking. Catching sight of what looked like a fresh puddle of blood, Miles cocked his head back to see where it was coming from and dropped his hand once he saw a man weakly struggling to free himself from a pipe that was speared through his abdomen.  
  
He stood there, staring at him until the man caught sight of him and parted his lips to speak, but all that came out was a wet gurgle and droplets of blood.  
  
"Well shit." Miles breathed, amazed that he was still alive despite how much blood he lost. He followed where the ropes holding the man hostage led to and went to free him. Despite the nanomachines shifting and feeling like it was a warning more than anything. "Okay, okay. Got it. Calm down." he muttered as he worked on getting the ropework undone. "This is a shitty way to die."  
  
_"Wait."_ The Walrider shifted to be beside Miles in a mist-like consistency as the man began to lower to the floor. _"He's dangerous."_ it hissed. _"You can't stay here."_  
  
_Says the guy who tossed me around like a babyback bitch._ Miles made his way to the man as he began to push himself up and out of the blood. He was about to offer a hand to give some assistance but stopped once he saw the man's face. _Well fuck me sideways. I guess I shouldn't be surprised but..._  
  
As the man stood and turned to face Miles, he had no doubt that it was Eddie Gluskin that he'd just set free. Miles took a step back as he dropped his hand, creating as much distance as he can given the available space. Which wasn't much with how many pulley systems were in place and the endless amount of rope that was in one room.  
  
Eddie simply stared at him, resting a hand over the stomach wound and soon a lazy smile tugged at the corners of Eddie's mouth. "Why thank you for helping me." His eyes roamed Miles' face for a brief moment before looking him over. As if sizing him up. Eddie's gaze paused once he reached Miles' hands and his smile shifted into a frown. "Tell me, darling, who did this to you?"  
  
Eddie reached his free hand out and grabbed hold of one of Miles', the latter tensing at the action. The second Eddie ran his thumb inqusitively along the stub was the moment Miles' breath hitched and the Walrider solidified its form as it hovered just behind Miles. Like a guard dog or some shit, Miles didn't know. What he did know was that Eddie cast one glance over Miles' shoulder and that was all it took for him to release his hand. Though not without a scowl and a bitten out, " _Walrider_."  
  
However, once Eddie turned his focus back to Miles, he then went to pluck something out of the blood and wiped it off on his pants. A flash of silver and the blade slowly being cleaned told Miles that he definitely should not be within stabbing distance of a serial killer. His heart nearly leaped out of his chest once the tip was pointed at him and Miles rose his hands while stepping back out of instinct. He'd been cut by Trager's scissors and various other weapons the patients carried to know it hurt like a bitch.  
  
Though nothing else happened. Nothing besides Eddie saying, "You will not take me back there. You won't take any more from me!"  
  
Miles lowered his arms and furrowed his brows as he thought over what Eddie could be talking about. He felt the nanomachines shift restlessly and noticed that Eddie shot a look at the Walrider once again. "Oh." Miles peered over his shoulder and waved the Walrider off to get it to back away. "No. I'm not going to take you back there." He turned his attention back to Eddie and shrugged. "No one's going back there and they're never going to be hurt again." The corner of his lip lifted in a twisted smirk. "Murkoff is done for. You're all safe now. I made sure of it."  
  
Eddie narrowed his eyes and looked Miles over for any sign of deceit. Once he was reassured that there were none, he put his knife away and laughed under his breath. "It's a shame you're taken. I would have loved to see that passion in other places."  
  
The Walrider snarled and curled up slightly as if readying itself to tear out Eddie's throat. However, it reigned in its desire as Eddie turned to leave the auditorium and watched as Miles absentmindedly rubbed the hand Eddie had grabbed. How Miles was staring straight ahead with a distant gaze, his chest jumping as he sucked in a few gulps of air and how a shudder would wrack his shoulders occasionally.  
  
It knew the mental scar Trager left was still fresh, raw and flayed open for all to see. It knew because it used this against Miles in the bathroom to keep him from taking a shower. While Miles was right about the Walrider being able to handle water, it was a different matter entirely when it came to healing such extensive wounds.  
  
The Walrider shifted into its base form and reentered Miles, pushing his fear and panic aside to be replaced with contentment. Content with just being alive and breathing. That he could send Murkoff six feet under with the footage on his camera once he releases it to the public.  
  
There was a moment when _appreciation_ flowed before it was replaced with renewed determination.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if I'll find the motivation to add onto this 'cause, let's be honest, it feels unfinished. That being said, if I do...then I guess I'll add onto this if I jot down more in the doc I have this saved in.


End file.
